


Before and After Dying

by Rhiannon87



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-04
Updated: 2012-03-04
Packaged: 2017-11-01 03:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhiannon87/pseuds/Rhiannon87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moments in Commander Alexandra Shepard's life, death, and second go at it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Peace

It seemed wrong to have a funeral without a body.

There was a large enough crowd at the cemetery that he could hide towards the back, away from everyone else. The survivors of the Normandy were there, all of them, and most blamed him for what had happened. It was his fault there were all here, mourning the death of their commanding officer, of their shipmates, of the Normandy herself.

Admiral Hackett was speaking, his voice easily carrying across the crowd, but he couldn't quite connect meaning to the words. He instinctively limped backwards a few paces; the Alliance was still debating whether or not to court-martial him, and he wanted to avoid any unnecessary run-ins with the brass.

Kaidan and Chakwas were near the front of the crowd, both in their formal military uniforms. The doctor had a hand on Kaidan's arm, though he didn't seem aware of her; he just stared straight ahead, his expression blank. Liara and Tali stood near them. Tali had removed her veil in what he could only guess was a quarian sign of mourning. Garrus was nowhere to be seen, surprisingly. The turian and Shepard had always been close friends. Strange that he wouldn't come to her funeral.

“...dedicated soldier, whom no one will ever be able to replace.” Hackett concluded his speech, and the crowd began to slowly drift apart at the edges. The Admiral remained near the headstone, speaking quietly with a few people. Liara sank into a chair, hands covering her face, clearly sobbing. Chakwas knelt by her side and draped her arm across the asari's shoulders.

No one seemed to notice him as they passed, or if they did, they didn't deign to acknowledge his presence. Better than the alternatives. This was the first time he'd seen any of the crew in weeks. He'd taken to avoiding them as much as possible; he knew it was his fault, he didn't need all of them reminding him too.

Tali walked away, pulling her veil back up over her helmet. She saw him and slowed, then changed course, heading in his direction. He looked down as she approached. “I thought you hadn't come, Joker,” she said quietly, voice thick with tears.

He shrugged. “Probably best if most people think that,” he replied. “I'd prefer not to draw attention.”

The quarian's shoulders slumped, and she reached out to touch his arm. “She wouldn't want you to blame yourself.”

“Doesn't matter what she wanted,” he snapped. “She's dead. Can't order me to stop blaming myself now.”

Tali fell silent. “Sorry,” she mumbled, then hurried away, returning to Chakwas and Liara. He watched her go with a hollow feeling in his chest. He just had to make things worse. Not enough to let the ship get destroyed, to have Commander Shepard die saving him, no, he had to go and make Tali cry on top of all that.

Most of the crowd had dispersed by now. Hackett was saying something to Kaidan, his hand on the younger lieutenant's shoulder. Kaidan nodded, once, and Hackett walked away, pulling his hat back on. The admiral's gaze fell on him, taking in the rumpled uniform and crutches, then their eyes met for a second. Hackett looked away first, shaking his head, and continued walking towards the cemetery gates.

He stared blindly at the rows of headstones in front of him, a cold ache spreading out from his chest.  _ My fault. _ The brightest hope the galaxy had against the geth, against the Reapers, was dead. Because of him. He was the pilot. It was his duty to make sure they made it between the stars safely. Outside the ship, they'd been Shepard's responsibility, but on the Normandy, they were in his hands. And he'd failed them. He'd failed her.

Liara and Tali walked past, talking quietly, the asari still rubbing tears off her face. Tali turned her head to look at him again; she was too far away for him to make out her eyes, but he figured it was probably a safe bet that she was glaring at him. Kaidan and Chakwas were the only two left by the gravesite now. The lieutenant had dropped to his knees, one arm across the top of the headstone, his forehead pressed against his arm. Chakwas stood close by, her head bowed as a few tears traced their way down her face.

If there had been a way for him to trade places with Shepard at that moment, he would have.

Eventually Kaidan got to his feet. He kissed his fingertips, then pressed them to the cold stone. Chakwas looked away; she spotted him, surprise quickly giving way to sadness. She looked back at Kaidan, and started to lead him away, ensuring that the two men wouldn't meet. He was grateful for that. His face was still healing from the last time he and Kaidan had been within ten feet of each other.

There was no one else there now. He looked around the cemetery warily, feeling like he was sneaking around some place he wasn't supposed to be, before limping slowing towards the gravesite. The headstone wasn't anything fancy, just plain white limestone, same as the thousands of other soldiers buried there.

He stood in front of it for a few moments, staring, before carefully maneuvering to his knees, dropping his crutches and using the headstone for support. He traced his fingers over the freshly carved name and dates. She'd have been thirty in another five months. The crew had already started plotting what they were going to do for her birthday, conspiring in hushed tones on the bridge or in the mess, competing to see who could come up with the most ridiculous ideas.

It wasn't just Shepard that they'd lost. It was the camaraderie, the friendship, the family they'd become during those months of hell together. He'd never served on a crew that felt like that before. And now half of them were dead and half were scattering to the corners of the galaxy.  _ My fault... _

“I'm sorry,” he whispered hoarsely. “I'm so sorry...”

There wasn't anyone around to hear, or to forgive. After a few moments he picked up his crutches and limped away.


	2. Special Forces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from Shepard's career before the Normandy.

_[19 August 2174: Altahe, Acheron, Styx Theta Cluster]_

“God damn it.”

Martinez glances over at the sniper. “Didn't think you were the religious type, LT.”

“I'm not.” Shepard's leaning against the wall, watching as the Marines carry body after body out of the base. “How could you be, seeing this?” She gestures at the grisly scene.

It was supposed to be a simple mission, taking out some slavers in the Acheron system. They'd tracked the ship back from a sale-- another group was supposed to be rescuing the recently purchased slaves-- and hit the base. Somehow the fact that the slavers still had forty people imprisoned had eluded everyone until it was too late. People in cages with gas lines underneath... it only took one batarian ten seconds to light them up. They'd burned to death, trapped, screaming.

“Yeah.” The normally cheerful engineer walks over and slides down the wall beside Shepard. “Someone dropped the fuckin' ball.”

“We should've expected them to have hostages,” Shepard mutters, shaking her head. “Should've anticipated this...”

Martinez shrugs. “They'd just made a big sale. And they don't normally...” She trails off, looking over at the rows of body bags.

“Liquidate the inventory?” Shepard finishes bitterly. She shakes her head. “Why the fuck would they do that? What do they gain?”

“Not about gain.” Both women scramble to attention as Commander Jackson approaches. “It's about making sure we don't win.” He looks at the door, arms folded across his chest, frowning. “Killed the bastards, but we sure as hell didn't win this one.”

“Yes sir,” Shepard agrees quietly.

Jackson glances at her, then gestures over his shoulder. “Get back to the ship. I want your reports in an hour. Then I'm telling the brass _in detail_ how badly intell fucked up.”

“Aye aye, Commander.” They both salute; Shepard slings her rifle over her shoulder, and they slowly walk away from the bunker. Shepard looks down and shakes her head. “Damn it.”

 

_[01 January 2175: SSV Beijing, Attican Beta Cluster]_

Shepard glances up as the door to the crew quarters slides open, and Martinez staggers inside. “Y'know, Maggie, New Year's really only matters on Earth,” she says with a smirk. “Pretty sure dates don't mean much of anything out here.”

Martinez holds up a hand and shakes her head. “Less talking.”

“You wouldn't be hungover, would you?” Shepard teases. “'Cause alcohol's contraband.”

“It is.” Martinez sits down on her bunk with a groan. “An' we had to get rid of it somehow.”

Shepard shakes her head, looking back at the datapad in her hand. “How you haven't gotten court-martialed yet is beyond me.”

“Possession of contraband, fraternization, insubordination...” The other woman lays down, burying her face in her pillow. “Guess it's 'cause I'm just that good at my job.”

“You know Jackson's gonna want to see us in a few hours, right?”

“Yeah. So less talking. I gotta sleep this off before then.”

Shepard rolls her eyes and goes back to reading.

 

_[17 January 2175: Asteroid Belt, Telephos, Attican Beta Cluster]_

Yet another mission in which everything seemed to be going to hell. Shepard grits her teeth and continues to fire into the doorway, blowing holes in the turian soldiers every time they tried to move in. The Turian Hierarchy was supposed to deal with groups like this, rebels who'd never stopped fighting the First Contact War. Terrorists, by the Citadel's standards. This particular band had been attacking any human ships passing through the cluster, and the turians had been slower to respond than the Alliance would have liked. So, in went the special forces.

“Somebody get Davidson out of there!” Jackson snaps over the comm. “God damn it, of all the times for a flare-up...”

The rifle's overheated, and she drops it, switching temporarily to her pistol. They've got the advantage, tactically: plenty of cover, a choke point on the enemies, and a sniper camped out in a bird's nest that's damn near impossible to hit. It should've been a cakewalk. But the turians had superior numbers, and they'd kept the squad from advancing. Sieglinde and Ferris are pinned down near the door, taking rifle fire anytime they try to advance. Shepard looks down; Davidson's just barely behind cover, and even from her perch, she can tell the biotic soldier is seizing violently.

“I'll get him,” Ferris snaps. “Shepard, Sieglinde, cover me.”

“Got it.” She switches back to the rifle, lifting it to her shoulder as her muscles ache in protest. She peers down the scope, lining up the crosshairs in the door at average turian head level. “Ready.”

She can't see anything outside the narrow view offered by the rifle scope. Three turian soldiers step into the doorway, assault rifles ready; Shepard drops two of them with headshots, and Sieglinde takes out the last one with a few shotgun blasts. “Got him,” Ferris announces. “He's unconscious. Still having a damn seizure.”

“Just try to stabilize him,” Martinez says. “Make sure he doesn't hurt himself or bite through his tongue or anything.”

Shepard continues to watch the door. “Sig, you reading anyone else down there?” she asks.

“No.” She can tell he's annoyed by the nickname. “Radar's coming back clear, _Shep_.”

“Shepard, cover us, I'm moving in,” Jackson says. “We'll check, make sure it's clear. Martinez, deal with Davidson.” He sighs in annoyance. “Frakking biotics.”

She frowns. It's not Davidson's fault. Most of the time he's fine, and his implant doesn't give him any trouble, but sometimes... Well, sometimes he gets migraines and seizures in the middle of combat. Jackson's always seemed bothered by the presence of a biotic in their squad, although even he wouldn't deny how useful Davidson's abilities are. “We're clear,” Jackson reports. “Shepard, get down here.”

“Aye aye, Commander.” Shepard lowers her rifle, hissing in pain as she stretches her arm, and makes her way to the ladder. Davidson's conscious and alone by the time she reaches the ground; everyone else has moved off to secure the door, or to start hacking the base's computers. “Hey,” she greets him, dropping down to sit beside him. “You okay?”

He shrugs, eyes closed. “Nope. Feel like someone's digging a knife into my skull. A knife that's on fire.” He opens his eyes and glances at her. “Plus I passed out in a firefight. Jackson's gonna throw me out for sure now.”

Shepard shakes her head. “Jackson knows how valuable you are to the unit-- who else is going to throw people in the air for target practice? And besides, this hasn't happened for, what, four or five months?”

“Shouldn't happen at all,” Davidson grumbles. “I'm a fucking liability.”

She glances around, then reaches over and squeezes his hand briefly. “The hell you are,” she says fiercely. “You're a part of this team, Mark. Jackson knows we'd mutiny if he discharged you. Don't worry about it.”

He sighs. “Thanks, Shepard.”

Shepard gets to her feet, and offers him a hand up. “C'mon, soldier. Let's go kick some turian ass.”

 

_[11 April 2176: New Thebes, Anhur, Amun System, Eagle Nebula]_

“Y'know, I could get used to celebrating my birthday with fireworks.”

“They're not for you, Shepard.”

“Oh, c'mon, Commander, it's her birthday, can't we just _pretend_ they're for her?”

“Whatever.”

“Requesting permission to push the big red button, Commander?”

“It's a detonator switch, Lieutenant.”

“Requesting permission--”

“Fine. Here.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“That's the only birthday present you're getting from me.”

“Big explosions are a _great_ birthday present.”

“Will you just blow the warehouse so we can go? I'm tired.”

“Okay, okay, fine.... Wow. Was it-- I don't remember planting that many explosives.”

“What was being stored there?”

“It was a weapons dump. Guns, grenades, shoulder-mounted surface-to-air missile launchers...”

“...holy crap, was that a mushroom cloud?”

“This is the best birthday _ever_.”

 

_[06 October 2176: New Thebes, Anhur, Amun System, Eagle Nebula]_

Shepard leans against the wall, arms folded over her chest, gaze on the floor. They're leaving. Eight months in deep cover, helping the abolitionists against the slavers, and the Alliance was pulling them out. Just as things were starting to look good. The abolitionists were _winning_. And they were going home.

“You can't do this!” Varik shouts. Jackson regards him calmly, arms folded over his chest, back straight. He's been the target of everyone's anger for the past hour: the squad, the abolitionists, even some of the mercenaries. They can't even explain why they're leaving. No one here knows they're Alliance. “You can't just leave like this!”

Jackson shrugs. “I'm sorry.”

“Shepard?”

She glances over at the sound of her name. “Yeah?”

Kordelia glances around as she sidles up to the lieutenant. “Why're ya'll really leavin'?”

“The boss said so,” she replies, nodding at Jackson. He told them to put all the blame on him. She doesn't envy him that position, now. Being the one responsible for all this.

The young woman frowns. “C'mon, Shepard. You gotta know somethin'.”

Shepard sighs. Kordelia had been a slave, rescued by the squad, and had immediately joined the abolitionists. Davidson and Sieglinde had trained her and about a dozen other slaves in basic combat. They'd gone on missions together, big offensives against the slavers. Comrades in arms. Until now. “I'm sorry.”

Kordelia stares at her. “Bigger job? Better pay?” Shepard doesn't reply. The other woman shakes her head. “Fine. Fuck you. Don' need your help anymore now. We'll win the fuckin' war without ya.” She turns on her heel and stalks off, back towards the other militia members.

Shepard watches her go. “Yeah. You will.”

 

_[25 October 2176: Scott, Terra Nova, Asgard, Exodus Cluster]_

“This is the most depressing shore leave ever,” Martinez complains.

Shepard shrugs. “Team's broken up, Mark's retiring... I'm shipping out on the Moscow next week, you're getting sent off to Eden Prime...”

Martinez rolls her eyes. “That is going to be so _boring_.” She finishes off her martini and sets down the glass with a bit more force than strictly necessary.

“Eh, nothing wrong with an easy posting every now and then.” Shepard absently stirs the straw in her drink. “The Moscow's just doing a sweep through the colonies. Guess they want to give us something relaxing after Anhur.”

Both women fall silent for a moment. “I miss it already,” Martinez says, signaling the bartender for another drink.

“God, I know.” Shepard shakes her head. “What the hell am I going to do on a ship tour? I'm a sniper. We'll barely ever be groundside. Not much for me to do but calibrate my guns.” Martinez snickers. “Oh, grow up.”

“You oughta find someone to calibrate 'em for ya,” the engineer replies.

Shepard sighs. “Not bloody likely.”

“What about him?” Martinez gestures across the bar at a table of young men.

“Which one?”

“Does it matter?” The engineer has a predatory glint in her eye as she surveys the men.

Shepard, well acquainted with her friend's proclivities, rolls her eyes and takes a sip of soda. “I'm not playing wingman for you, Maggie.”

“That's okay. I'll manage on my own.” Martinez knows better than to expect Shepard to join her. She picks up her drink and slides off the barstool. “Sure you don't want to come along? Find a nice boy to take home for the night?”

“Nah. Have fun, though. I'm gonna head back to Kelly's.”

“Suit yourself.” Martinez leans over and gives Shepard a quick kiss on the cheek. “Give me a call in a day or two. We need to hang out before you leave.” She tosses her hair over her shoulder and saunters over to the table.

Shepard watches her friend, shaking her head slightly, then turns back to the bar to pay the tab.

 

_[02 September 2177: Arcturus Station, Arcturus, Icarius Cluster]_

She understands the logic behind putting her on medical leave, but she hates it. There's nothing to do but think, and remember, and she doesn't want to do either of those things. She wants to get back to training, get back to missions, to do _something_ besides sit here and stare out the windows.

“Shepard?”

She closes her eyes briefly. Of all the people... “Commander.” She stands, quickly, and salutes her former CO. “Good to see you.”

Jackson nods at her. “I heard about what happened,” he says, taking a seat on the metal bench.

Shepard follows suit reluctantly. She doesn't want to talk about it even more than she doesn't want to think about it. She especially doesn't want to talk about it with her former commander. He kept all of them alive through missions that took them to hell and back. She lost everyone investigating one damn colony. “Yeah.”

He stretches his legs out in front of him and looks out the window. “What're they calling the things that attacked you?”

“Thresher maws,” she replies, keeping her voice steady. Mostly. It's a fitting name, she decides, for something with no apparent purpose besides death and ruin.

Jackson exhales heavily. “I fought in the First Contact War,” he says. “We'd never seen turians before. Bastards still creep me out. We lost a hell of a lot of ground at first 'cause we didn't know what we were up against.” He glances over at her. “We've barely been in the galaxy two decades, Shepard. There's a lot of shit out here we don't know about. Someone's gotta find it. This time you were the one who got unlucky enough to find something terrible.”

He's trying to tell her it's not her fault, to not blame herself. “You lose people under your command in the war?” she asks.

Jackson's quiet for a while. “Yeah. Some. I learned. Did better in the future.” He shrugs. “You figure out what went wrong, what you could have done differently, and fix that. But there's only so much you can do. Giant acid-spewing space worms... can't do much against those.”

“Yeah.” Should've done something, though. She's not sure what. But something.

He shakes his head and stands, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Shepard,” he says, then walks off before she can get up. Shepard stares after him for a few minutes, then turns back to the window.

 

_[12 June 2180: Santa Fe, Earth, Sol, Local Cluster]_

She's the only member of the squad who made it to the funeral. Everyone else is deployed out somewhere, except for Mark. She's not sure what his excuse is. Maybe he doesn't know. Doubtful, though. You hear things like this.

It's uncomfortably warm in her formal dress uniform, and the desert sun reminds her of home. She takes a drag on her cigarette, hating herself for picking up the habit again, and watches as a group of Marines aim their rifles skyward for the salute.

Jackson's ex-wife and son are standing across the grave from her. Shepard can't remember the ex's name, but she knows the kid. Nathan. Eleven years old and burying his father. It's not right. Jackson didn't talk about his family much, but it was clear his son meant the world to him. He just didn't know how to be there, how to stop soldiering across the galaxy and spend time with his son. It was why his wife divorced him. It was probably why the kid was sobbing his heart out now.

She's never understood the twenty-one gun salute, especially for soldiers who died in combat. It's just a grim reminder of how they died. In Jackson's case, it was biotic terrorists. So maybe it wasn't gunfire that did him in, maybe it was a broken spine or a crushed ribcage or... Shepard shakes her head and raises the cigarette to her lips. Doesn't do any good to think about it.

The third and final volley falls silent. Another soldier presents a folded Alliance flag to Jackson's ex-wife, who accepts it awkwardly, keeping one arm around her son. Shepard sighs, and drops her cigarette to the ground, crushing it under her heel. She needs to get out of here.

 

_[27 July 2183: L4 Station, Sol, Local Cluster]_

“Holy hell, Shepard! You're gonna serve on the Normandy?” Martinez grins over the video link. “That's incredible!”

Shepard nods, grinning back. She can't help it. “Captain Anderson requested me specifically,” she says.

Martinez's eyes go wide. “Damn, Shepard. That's... wow. Executive officer on a prototype warship, serving under a war hero... They've really fast-tracked you for command, haven't they.”

“Looks like it.”

“When do you ship out?” Martinez asks. “My tour's up in about three weeks, but that's probably too far out.”

Shepard nods. “Yeah. Shakedown's in six days. Although from what I understand the pilot's been given clearance to test her out around the system.”

“You know any of the crew?”

“Besides Anderson? Nobody.” Shepard shrugs. “It's a pretty small crew, though. Shouldn't take me long to learn names.”

“Yeah.” Martinez glances off to the side. “I gotta get going, my shift starts in a few. I'll talk to you later?”

“Of course. And we've got to get together next time I'm on leave.”

“No kidding.” The engineer grins. “Congratulations, Alex. I'll see ya later.”

“Later.”


	3. Assassin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A day in the life of a special forces infiltrator.

Alexandra Shepard is an incredibly patient person.

She’s been laying on the fourth floor of the bombed-out hotel for three hours now, waiting for the target to pass. Kelisia Fox, Minister of Colonial Intelligence, daughter of Rear Admiral Marcus Fox, one of the founders of New Thebes. A slaver, as far as Shepard is concerned, and that’s really the only important factor at play here. She threw her lot in with the batarians, legalized slavery on a human colony, and she’s been ruthlessly hunting down the abolitionist resistance.

The Alliance condemned the government’s actions, but legally, they can’t take any official action until Parliament acts, and the fact that this colony is in the Terminus Systems is slowing things down. So she and her squad are here illegally and unofficially. If they’re discovered, they’re to claim to be mercenaries, to deny everything, to kill themselves before revealing that they’re Alliance operatives. They’ve been here for five weeks now, acting as an informal guerrilla team, striking at the slavers where it hurts. Last week they bombed a smuggling port and freed nearly three dozen slaves. Shepard’s having the time of her life.

“Huntsman, this is Whip One, you read?” Martinez asks over the radio.

Shepard reaches up and activates her earpiece. “Loud and clear. Visual?”

“Heading in your direction, less than a block away. Four guards, standard formation.” The other woman is clearly grinning. “They’re not expecting trouble here.”

She smiles grimly and nods. “Copy that. Huntsman out.” Shepard crawls back over to her rifle and settles in, peering down the scope. The slavers dominate this area; some of the batarians captured a group of abolitionists three days ago, and have been holding them in a store down the road. Fox was going to come out here to question them personally eventually. They’ll try to rescue the rebels, if they can, but taking her out is the priority.

“Huntsman, this is MFH, do you have a visual?” Jackson sounds annoyed.

Shepard sweeps the western approach with her rifle, scanning. “Visual confirmed,” she says after a minute. Cars are too easy a target, any idiot with a rocket launcher can take them out, so Fox is moving in on foot. She looks comfortable in fatigues and sunglasses, strolling down the broken sidewalk and casually chatting with her guards. “I’ll take the shot when I have it. Radio silence.”

“Roger that, Huntsman. Good luck.” Everyone in the squad has some experience as a sniper; they understand, at the very least, that for something like this, concentration is crucial.

This area of the city used to be a shopping district, catering to the wealthy from both on and off world. Even now, after firefights and bombings have torn the neighborhood apart, there’s still plenty of cover from trees and sculptures. Fox seems to be instinctively sticking to cover. She was a Marine, back in the day. Before she retired and got involved in colonization. Before she started selling humans to the highest bidder.

There’s a gap in the trees almost directly in front of Shepard’s perch. Fox swings in towards the building as they approach, trying to put distance between herself and the weak point. She says something to one of her guards, who starts to move between her and the gap. Shepard shifts her aim slightly, catching the Minister’s head in the crosshairs, and pulls the trigger.

It looks very simple from this far away. Not clean, not with the blood and brain and bone splattering across the sidewalk and wall, but… simple. Boom, blood, body collapses. The guards instinctively draw their guns and start looking around; one of them kneels to check on Fox. His head explodes next, followed swiftly by two of his companions. 

The last guard ducks into cover behind a concrete pillar. Shepard watches through her scope as Martinez and Davidson close in on the man, flanking him. He spots Martinez first and takes a wild shot in her direction. The engineer ducks into cover; Shepard smirks and fires a round at the guard, missing him by about half a meter, but still close enough to scare him. Davidson closes in and knocks the man to his knees. Shepard nods and reaches up to activate her earpiece. “This is Huntsman. Kill confirmed?” she asks. She knows Fox is dead, but procedure demands that they check.

Martinez vaults neatly over a concrete planter and walks to the pile of corpses. “Confirmed,” she says, then turns in Shepard’s direction and gives a thumbs up. “Nice work, by the way.”

“Thanks.” Shepard pushes herself to her knees, stretching, as the rest of the team moves in on the guard. “Gonna go save some hostages now?”

“Roger that, Huntsman. Come on down, we’re activating phase two of the plan.” Jackson still sounds annoyed. He usually does, as long as a mission is active.

“Got it. Be there in ten.” She shuts off her radio and stands. Assassinate a slaver, save hostages, be heroes. Shepard grins as she collects her rifle. It’s a good day.


	4. Fifty Moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A "one sentence" challenge for Alex Shepard and Joker.

**#01 – Walking**

It takes her a few seconds to process the fact that it's Joker standing in front of her, mostly because the ideas of 'Joker' and 'walking' seem so alien to each other.

 

**#02 – Waltz**

“You wanna go, you bastards?” he growls as the Collector Oculars circle the ship, “come on then, let's _dance_.”

 

**#03 – Wishes**

“Sometimes I wish I really was crazy,” she mutters, looking at the datapad, “because then none of this would be real.”

 

**#04 – Wonder**

She wonders what really happened in those two years that was bad enough to make him join Cerberus.

 

**#05 – Worry**

He spends most of the ground missions trying not to watch the status screens for the away team and failing miserably at the task.

 

**#06 – Whimsy**

She stops in at the souvenir shop on a whim; when she spots the model of the SR-1, she can't pay for it fast enough.

 

**#07 – Waste/Wasteland**

“Have fun on Uninhabitable Dustball #972!” he calls as she leaves to get armored up for yet another mission.

 

**#08 - Whiskey and rum**

After they come back through the relay, she splits a bottle of whiskey with her pilot, because if anyone's earned a few drinks, it's him.

 

**#09 – War**

She's finding it harder and harder to remember a time when she didn't feel like she was fighting a war against _somebody_.

 

**#10 – Weddings**

Somehow word gets back to him that Kasumi thinks he and EDI are like “an old married couple,” and he refuses to talk to the thief for days.

 

**#11 – Birthday**

He's not quite sure how old she considers herself, and if her next birthday will be her thirtieth or thirty-second.

 

**#12 – Blessing**

He considers it a small blessing every time she comes up to the bridge, because, well, she was _dead_ , damn it.

 

**#13 – Bias**

“It's not bias, it's fact-- he's the best pilot in the _galaxy_!”

 

**#14 – Burning**

In his nightmares, the ship is burning around them, and she dies again, every time.

 

**#15 – Breathing**

In hers, she stops breathing.

 

**#16 – Breaking**

He waits for the pain meds to kick in and pleads around clenched teeth for Chakwas not to tell anyone that he fractured his arm again.

 

**#17 – Belief**

“Shit, Shepard, of _course_ you'll get the crew back-- never occurred to me that you wouldn't.”

 

**#18 – Balloon**

She grins savagely as the husk's head bursts, looking like nothing so much as a popped balloon.

 

**#19 – Balcony**

They stand side-by-side, looking down at the new Normandy, and the smile on her face convinces him that joining Cerberus was the right decision.

 

**#20 – Bane**

“Bane of my existence,” she grumbles as she lines up another headshot on the glowing, golden Collector.

 

**#21 – Quiet**

She didn't notice all the background noise of the crew until they were gone, and the quiet hurries her steps towards the bridge.

 

**#22 – Quirks**

The scar's gone, but when she's thinking she still runs her thumbnail along the space under her left eye where it used to be, a nervous tic she's never quite been able to shake.

 

**#23 – Question**

“Why'd you really join Cerberus?” she asks him after returning from the mission on Aite, and he doesn't know what to tell her.

 

**#24 – Quarrel**

EDI and Joker are fighting _again_ as she comes up to the bridge, leading the Commander to seriously consider finding a way of muting them both.

 

**#25 – Quitting**

“I should just go! Next port, just-- just leave, just get the hell out of here!” he snaps, and cold fear twists her stomach at the thought of losing him, too.

 

**#26 – Jump**

“Of course I pay attention to your orders-- you say jump, I say 'hell no, Commander, I'll shatter into a thousand pieces!'”

 

**#27 – Jester**

She comes to him for friendship and laughter, someone to relax with away from all the intrigue, so he chokes back the guilt and grief and all the other mixed-up feelings and puts on a smile.

 

**#28 – Jousting**

Anyone else listening to them verbally spar might think the pilot and Commander didn't get along, but she frequently leaves the bridge with a grin, and he's usually laughing as she goes.

 

**#29 – Jewel**

Alchera's icy surface shimmers beneath them; it's beautiful, but all his instincts are telling him to punch the accelerators and never come back.

 

**#30 – Just**

She tears through Cerberus's projects, destroying as many as she can because she knows their victims will never see any other justice.

 

**#31 – Smirk**

Neither of them genuinely smiles often, but they both have a wide catalog of smirks ready for almost any occasion.

 

**#32 – Sorrow**

They've both mourned her death; the difference is that he stops once she comes back to life.

 

**#33 – Stupidity**

In retrospect, he's pretty sure his flippant comments after Horizon are more or less the very _height_ of stupidity.

 

**#34 – Serenade**

He listens to her singing along to her music for a few minutes before telling her she left her comm on; her undignified squeak and muttered apology leave him snickering.

 

**#35 – Sarcasm**

She's one of the few people on the ship who can actually match his acerbic wit, which also makes her one of the few people on the ship he actually likes being around.

 

**#36 – Sordid**

He is _never_ going to live that earpiece glitch down.

 

**#37 – Soliloquy**

She’s gotten good at inspirational, rally-the-troops-before-near-certain-death speeches, which is kind of depressing when she thinks about it.

 

**#38 – Sojourn**

He remembers she used to love visiting the Citadel; now, though, she directs him to Nos Astra between missions.

 

**#39 – Share**

They both share the burden of remembering the last moments of her old life, but they never talk about it.

 

**#40 – Solitary**

He stays up on the bridge because he prefers to be alone, but it almost never bothers him when Shepard comes up to talk.

 

**#41 – Nowhere**

“Middle of frickin' nowhere,” he grumbles as he settles the ship into orbit.

 

**#42 – Neutral**

She used to keep everything locked down behind a neutral mask, total military discipline, so seeing her blow up after the Illusive Man's trap is unnerving.

 

**#43 – Nuance**

Even knowing him for as long as she has, sometimes she still can't tell when Joker's being serious or sarcastic.

 

**#44 – Near**

She almost never gives orders from the CIC, preferring to be near the action on the bridge.

 

**#45 – Natural**

It feels natural to have her over his shoulder again, hand on the back of his chair, ordering people around-- almost like she never left.

 

**#46 – Horizon**

One of the many things he loves about space is that, when they're in orbit, he can watch a sunrise pretty much whenever he wants.

 

**#47 – Valiant**

Shepard and EDI tell him that he saved the ship and the mission, but he doesn't really feel like much of a hero.

 

**#48 – Virtuous**

He complains about the side-trips, but privately he's relieved to see that her do-gooder tendencies came back to life with the rest of her.

 

**#49 – Victory**

She knows that none of her victories would be possible without him to get her there and back.

 

**#50 - Defeat**

He knows defeat isn't an option, and he's going to make sure she lives to finish things this time.


	5. Volcanoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Why Everyone On The Goddamn Crew Deserves a Pay Raise, or Why Shepard Should Not Be Allowed to Touch Things.

“What did you _do?!_ ” Garrus demands as the research base starts to collapse around us.

“Nothing!” The main hall is filled with fiery gas; I change course and start running towards the living quarters. “I just wanted to check out the map--”

“God damn it, woman,” Zaeed mutters. “How'd anyone ever let you be in charge of _anything_ \--”

I ignore him as we pound down the ramp to the Hammerhead. “Garrus, you drive,” I order. He's much better with the hover-tank than I am. I jump into the passenger seat and activate my radio. “Shepard to Normandy.”

“Hey, Commander, I was just about to call,” Joker says. “There's some seriously weird readings coming from your location--”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I cut in. “Listen, get a lock on the Hammerhead and be ready to pick us up, we're coming in hot.”

There's a brief pause. “Which means _what_ exactly?”

“We're outrunning a bloody volcano, Joker, now get down here!”

A beat, then he sighs heavily. “Aye aye, Commander.”

The Hammerhead shakes violently as Garrus steers it through narrow tunnels. Zaeed's keeping up a muttered commentary in the backseat, mostly consisting of vows to kill someone if he dies like this. I suddenly miss Wrex terribly.

“Tell Joker to be ready for us,” Garrus says as we rocket up through a tunnel towards the sky.

“Joker--”

“Moving into position now,” he replies. “I hope Garrus has better aim than you.”

“Oh, are you _really_ going to bring up the barn swallow incident now--”

Garrus punches the thrusters, and we fly off the ledge, skidding into the Normandy's docking bay in a shower of sparks. “We're on, let's go,” I say. The hatch closes, and Joker guides the ship away from the volcano. I lean my head back against the seat and laugh. “Nice work, Garrus.”

“Thanks, Commander.”

Zaeed groans as he clambers out of the tank. “I need a drink.”

I follow him to the elevator. He and Garrus both get off on the crew deck, while I head for the CIC. I pull off my helmet and run a hand through my hair as I walk to the bridge. “Hey, Joker.”

He rotates around in his chair, holding up a pair of fingers. “Two.”

“Excuse me?”

“That is the number of volcanoes I have saved you from.” He looks somewhere between annoyed and amused. “Most pilots are _never_ required to save their commanding officers from any kind of geological catastrophe.”

“Well, you aren't most pilots,” I reply with a grin.

“And you are _damned_ lucky I'm not.” He shakes his head. “Seriously, what's next on your agenda? Earthquakes?”

“Does that wrecked ship that fell over the side of a cliff count?” I ask. Joker groans, covering his eyes with his hand. I grin. “I think for my next trick, I'm going to make you rescue me from a black hole.”

“I hate you, Commander,” he says weakly, turning back to the controls.

“Set a course for the Hades Nexus,” I tell him, still grinning. “And thanks.”

“You still owe me some medals!” he calls after me as I walk away.


End file.
